I will...
- Be able to spell Prime Minister
on the first attempt
- Be able to answer a question directly
- Think if stuff that’s going on
outside London
- Only go to war if I really,
really need to and not just because I'm bored
- Stop letting America boss us
about
- Stop pissing about with
‘cigarette tax’ and just ban them (might be unpopular)
I will not…
- Fiddle expenses
- Use tax money to throw big
parties
- Build a big train from London to
Birmingham un less I have made Birmingham much nicer
- I will not make Birmingham much
nicer
- Give any extra money to other MPs
just because we’re BFFs
- Spill soup on any important
documents, even if they’re bad (or leave them on trains)
Laws I shall make:
- Any MP heard making an offensive
remark shall get an egg thrown at them to show the physical manifestation of
the metaphorical egg on their face.
- Dress down Friday
- If MPs must have a second home,
they are regulated to a very small flat in Croydon
- Crimes to be rated on a
‘naughtiness scale’ to decide punishment (not believing that I’m going to be
Prime Minister is a 3)
- The mayor of London is not allowed to be
better than me
Please vote for me
I went to the doctors last week. My ear was being funny, and there was this weird spot on my neck, and I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. He fiddled about with my head in general for about twenty minutes, while I thought about what cake would be available at work the next day, then booked me in for a blood test and sent me off. He prodded the lump on my neck one last time. "I think it's a blocked lymph node," he said. "Of course, worst case scenario it could be cancer. Right, bye!"
That's not a nice thing to hear. Naturally when I had found the lump in my neck, the word cancer crossed my mind, but never seriously. I thought about how cool I would be, so chill and relaxed. The cool cancer patient. Then a medical professional said the word, and then then I was crying on my mums shoulder while a nurse handed me some ear drops and tried not to look worried.
I had the blood test done, and after they didn't ring me after two days, started to relax. Eventually, I rang them, and they said I was anemic but could I come back and give them some more blood please. I did, and it was fine, and I wined at the lovely new doctor until she said that my white blood cell count was fine and that I should probably chill out now.
I knew cancer was very unlikely. It's at the end of a very long list of things that the lump might be - I'm still not actually sure. Even if it was cancer, it would almost certainly be curable. Even so, when he said cancer, there was a space of roughly six hours where I genuinely thought I was going to die. In hindsight this was dumb, but it's kind of inexplicable when someone throws that word at you.
It was surprisingly telling. Not once did I think of the wedding I would never have, or the children I'd never know. I thought about how I would never be prime minister, I'd never break Hollywood, I'd never have anything ever published by the Guardian. Which was awful. And also very good. Sometimes I worry that I'll grow out of the "I don't want kids" phase, and now I know I won't. I know that's not for me. I want adventure and ambition, and I'm proud of that. Thank you mister doctor man for not mincing your words.
Sorry this isn't written very well. It's nearly 1am, and I stopped making my bed because I had some words in my head that I wanted to put out before I went to sleep. I'm not going to spell check anything, I just wanted to tell you the story.
Funny posts soon, about waitress and growing up. All the best to you, whoever reads this x
